
Chapter 8: The Black Soil Beneath Steel Boots
They landed like they always did—tactically, systematically, prepared for resistance. But there were no hostile natives, no planetary defenses. Just wind that moaned like it carried names and trees that bent when no breeze passed.
The Ferox soldiers noted it immediately: Denzaga wasn’t just alien—it was wrong. The soil was soft, yet nothing decomposed. The jungle in the distance teemed with life, but no predators hunted. Light seemed to hesitate in the canopy. And still, something moved. Always just beyond sight.
Then came the sleepwalking. The whispered coordinates. The reports of soldiers staring into the jungle, eyes glazed, lips mumbling prayers they’d never learned. One stepped into the wilds and never returned—only his shadow remained, burned into the bark of a tree that bled black.
Their scanners failed. Their tech glitched. But the coordinates never changed: the Shrine.
A structure the jungle tried to hide and reveal all at once.
They came seeking salvation. What they found was something far older and far hungrier than their desperation.